Chapter 3

Over the line, I heard the sound of papers rustling. Then came her cold, final judgment.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. You don't have classes. I’ve prepared a special 'Combo Pack' for you. Be home by 6:00 AM sharp. You're going to pay back everything you owe, with interest, all at once!"

"A Combo Slip?" My heart stopped. A terror far hotter than my fever gripped my chest.

"That's right! One slip, triple the pain! It’s the only way to teach a cheat like you a lesson!" She slammed the phone down before I could say a word.

The dial tone echoed in my ear. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall onto the cold floor.

The draft in the stairwell blew through my damp clothes, feeling like a thousand needles stabbing my skin.

"Clara! There you are!" Chloe found me. When she saw the state I was in, she panicked and wrapped her coat tighter around me. "What did she say? Did she scream at you? Don't be scared, I'll—"

"Chloe,"

I looked up, tears streaming down my face. I looked pathetic. "Tomorrow... I have to go home. Just... don't get involved. Please."

I knew that if Chloe got dragged into this, Eleanor would count it as another "debt" I’d have to pay back in an even more horrific way.

That night, I tossed and turned in my dorm bed, tortured by the fever and sheer terror.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Eleanor's crazed face and that cursed wooden box.

The next morning at 5:30 AM, before the sun was even up, I dragged my burning, exhausted body out of the dorm.

I felt dizzy as I boarded the early morning bus, feeling like a prisoner walking to the electric chair.

I arrived home at exactly 6:00 AM.

Eleanor was already sitting on the living room couch, fully dressed, her face expressionless.

The evil wooden box sat on the coffee table. Next to it was a new stack of slips—noticeably thicker and made of dark brown Kraft paper.

"Punctual. Good."

She looked up and pointed at the dark slips. "Draw. Let's see what kind of hell you’ve brought upon yourself."

I walked to the table. My fingers were stiff and cold.

The opening of the box looked like the mouth of a monster waiting to swallow me whole.

I closed my eyes, slid my hand inside, and pulled one out.

On the dark brown paper, written in blood-red marker, were three chilling lines:

[The abandoned hospital corridor]

[Blindfolded walk]

[Listening to 'Nesta's' cries]

I gasped, the blood draining from my face.

Eleanor took the slip. As she read the words, a twisted, ecstatic smile spread across her face, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment.

"You know the abandoned asylum on the west side of town, right?"

She said slowly, "I’ve already picked the spot for you. As for the 'listening' part..."

She turned around, pulled an old cassette player and a pair of headphones from the TV cabinet, and threw them at me. "This has recordings of the sounds your sister probably made. Go. Stay there for two hours. And remember, you must be blindfolded to truly hear her."

She threw a strip of black cloth at me. Her eyes held no maternal warmth—only the fanatical obsession of a cult leader.

Looking at her—the woman I had called Mom for eighteen years—I finally realized something. This wasn't a punishment. This wasn't a debt.

This was a human sacrifice.